Irony
by staringatstars07
Summary: Sans isn't acting like himself. You can't afford not to care. (Possession au)
The cold wind blows straight through the thin fabric of your sweater, chilling your skin and cooling your blood. You bite down on your bottom lip, hugging your chest as you suppress a shiver.

Undyne said he'd be coming up the path any minute and you can't let him see you as weak. Maybe before all this, it would have been all right, but now…

Everything he did, taking you aside to warn you about the blue attacks, helping you clear his brother's 'completely regular attack' – why did he do those things if he planned on attacking everyone later? It doesn't make any sense.

You see him trudging through the snow and straighten your back, chin up and eyes forward. You're not sure if you're ready to face him or what will happen if you fail, but there is something you are absolutely certain of.

Someone has to stop him.

Someone has to _try._

"Come on, Sans," you say with your fists unclenched, palms raised and open as visual, undeniable proof that you just want to talk, "tell me what's going on. This isn't like you."

The permanent smile on his face falters at the sight of you. He takes another step in your direction; the movement so forced his bones creak from the strain of it, and then stops.

The words you use next come from dreams. Nightmares. "Hey, Sans… I've got a question for you." The change is immediate. The struggle in every line, every curve of body disappears as his upper body twists sharply to face you, as though his feet have been rooted to the ground, his expression frozen in instant and blatant panic. "Do you believe even the worst person can change? That everybody can be a good person if they just try?" This time, it's not the cold that makes you shiver. "I don't think you have to try, Sans. I may not know what's going on, but I know this isn't you. The Sans I know would never hurt…" You hesitate, stumbling because part of you is screaming at the thought of fighting him, a strange cacophony of fear and excitement that could only mean he's fought you before. And your SOUL remembers. "He'd never hurt an innocent," you settle on. It feels right. "Now, if you can hear me, please try to turn around. Go back to Snowdin. We'll find a way to fix things together." He cocks his head to the side with an audible crack, his eyes two flickering pinpricks of light in his empty sockets. For some reason, even though his grin is wider than you've ever seen it, you get the impression that he's crying, and your chest aches with how much you don't want him to, how much the thought of causing him anymore pain makes you want to curl up in a small ball. You don't want to fight. You want to go back to Snowdin. You want to eat frozen spaghetti with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

"Come on, Sans, we're friends, right? You told me we were." A sound, gurgling and strangled, eeks out of his closed jaw.

 **"don't tell me, frisk… if i take another step forward… i'm going to have a bad time?"**

You pause, brain itching with a memory that the skeleton's familiar mocking tone brings clawing to the surface. There's a voice, a gleeful giggling accompanied by pain. Regardless of your desperate attempts to remember who it was that laughed when you were scared and alone in the dark, your mind instinctively flinches away from it.

Maybe Sans is lost. You've been lost before. You can help him. Or maybe it's worse than that. Maybe this isn't Sans at all. Or it is, but something or someone is forcing him to act this way.

With that option in mind, the sight of tears dripping down his cheekbones brings a bittersweet smile to your face. "Yeah. I don't know who you are or what you've done to Sans, but if you take another step forward, you're going to have a really bad time."

And you're not sure if you can beat him or help him or save him.

You're just a human, after all.

But you're determined to try.

* * *

But how much? How many times? One more? Forever?

Once again, you find yourself on the snowy path, going through the motions of brushing off your knee and waiting for not-Sans to walk up to meet you. As always, the grin on his face widens unnervingly at the sight of you, sending web-like fissures through his skull. And you haven't looked at a mirror in ages, but you can feel the exhaustion creeping through your muscles. The fight hasn't even started and you're already shaking.

You've given up on hiding it. Sans – the real Sans – sees it every time. The monster may have control of his body and voice, but it can't keep him from seeing. You almost wish it could, because the look in his eyes is so miserably guilt-ridden you want to look away, even though you'd be killed immediately if you did. You want to go home.

You want to sleep. You want Sans back.

 **"you're looking pretty tired, kiddo."** A low growl squeezes through your clenched teeth. More than the taunts or the threats, you hate it when it pretends to speak like Sans. **"how many times has this been now? do you think sans knows? should we ask him?"**

You quickly shake your head. It's not fair to make him to guess, to put a number on how many times you've died for him. So, of course, the monster forces his jaw to move, temporarily giving him his voice back so the skeleton can rasp, "fifty."

You'd already lost count, so you're not sure if that's even right or not, but hearing the number is strange, discouraging, because no matter how many times you meet them on this path, you can't find a way to save him. But if you don't show up, the monster will make him hurt everyone. Now that all of your failures have a number on them, you're already flagging strength seems to abandon you.

Chest heaving with exertion and panic and fear, you sink into the snow.

You want to save Sans.

You don't want to die.

With blue flames bursting forth from his eye socket, Sans moves to run to your side, only to pull up short with a pained cry as vines curl around his legs.

…Vines?

The incomplete memory you've been replaying over and over finally clicks into place.

"Flowey." Something or someone laughs at the same time a golden flower peeks out of Sans' skull. Buried under the layers of your coat, the knife you picked up burns, begging to be used. And part of you would like nothing more than to rip open Sans' skull and hack at the wicked plant inside. Your brown eyes flash red. Grimacing under the knowing stare of the skeleton, you stamp down on that feeling. Killing Sans isn't saving him. That means it's not good enough.

 **"kid** ," you look up, " **has it ever occurred to you that not everyone can be saved?"**

For the first time, you can't tell who those words belong to. It doesn't matter, though. Sans agrees with them. All it takes is one look and you can tell that he's already given up on believing you can save him, that anyone can.

The desire to save him burns in your chest, filling you with determination. Not for the first or the last time, you stand, back straight and chin high. "You're right." The lights that serve as Sans' eyes dim. "Not everyone can be saved, but I can stay here forever. Unless you free Sans, you are never going to leave this place. You're not going to reach Asgore, you're not going outside. You're going to spend the rest of eternity fighting me. Are you okay with that?"

 **"what about you, kid? how many more times do you think you'll die before chara takes over? won't be long now. then she'll help kill every monster in the underground."**

The thought alone terrifies you into trying something reckless. "Hey, Flowey… do you still want my SOUL?"

A short, terrified gasp reminds you that even through Flowey's control, Sans has no problem hearing you. "…kid… _no._ "

And if this gambit doesn't work, then you'll be glad of it, because even if you don't like how he worries over you when he's the one who needs help, hearing his voice fills you with determination. "If you let him go, I'll give it to you."

A silence stretches over the empty, untrodden path between you, then Flowey tightens its grip around Sans' legs and moves him, step after step, closer. Despite the skeleton's best efforts, they are within reaching distance of you in less time than it takes a clump of snow to fall from a weak branch. Slowly, Flowey uncurls from the skeleton's sternum, ignoring his feeble attempts to keep him still and away from you. Irritated, Flowey snaps, "Would you cut that out? All this time you've wanted to be rid of me and now you're acting like you don't want me to leave. Stop being such a crybaby and let me go."

"It's okay, Sans." You reach for a confident smile. It's a little shaky but it'll have to do. "It's going to be okay."

He doesn't believe you. He puts all of his remaining strength into pulling away, jerking as Flowey slithers down his arm and onto yours. Once the only thing keeping him upright leaves him entirely, Sans collapses, exhausted and panting on the ground. "frisk… reset."

The evil plant weaves through your fingers as you furiously shake your head, scraping against the fabric of your sweater.

Not content to stop at your arm, Flowey creeps closer, its hungry eyes glued to your SOUL, only for it to snap as its jerked back by its stem, "What's the big idea, Frisk? You said you'd give me your SOUL! We had a deal!"

What neither Sans nor Flowey know is that Toriel's been training you in fire magic. You're only beginning, so it still burns you sometimes, and you can't throw it like she does, but it's hard to miss when the object you're trying to set on fire is wrapped around your palm.

This time, the grin you flash is wide, your eyes dark. "I _fibula'd._ "

The stalk in your hand erupts in orange fire as the flower lets out an outraged shriek that slips into an agonized scream as its stem burns black, giving off a thick cloud of smoke. You can smell your sweater melting under the flame's heat, know you're losing control as you begin to feel your skin blistering, but you don't let go. You don't stop. Resets won't work on Flowey. If you mess this up, he'll never fall for the same trick again.

Sans looks up to see your face contort with pain and pulls your feet out from under you, sending you sprawling into the snow. There's a hiss as water hits your palm, steam replaces smoke, and then you and Flowey are both sucking down huge gasps of air, charred and scared, but alive.

"That was new." Flowey glares at you. "Not fair."

Just when you're about to suggest leaving, you feel a boney hand rip Flowey off your arm. You want to shout at Sans to get away from him, but the words don't come, and he's doesn't pay squirming, loudly complaining flower any attention until after he's finished helping you to your feet. "you okay, kid? that magic's pretty tough for a human to handle. good thing toriel's good at giving tu-toriel's."

An exhausted giggle slips out. Once your mouth is open, though, there's no fighting back a yawn. "looks like it's bed time for you, kid."

You feel like you could lie down forever. Still, the thought of leaving Sans alone with Flowey gives you a bad feeling. Seeing your expression, Sans says, "don't worry. this little _bud_ dy won't get the drop on me twice." That's all well and good, but you're not leaving without him. "gonna stay planted there, huh? okay. i'll make this quick, then." He turns his stare down at the trembling flower in his hand, the lights vanishing from his eye sockets like stars dying in a night sky. Flowey gulps. "that expression… you know what's coming, don't you?" He shrugs. "well, it's not like that really matters at this point. see, i usually have a pretty good speech prepared for exactly this sort of moment, but the kid already did most of it for me, and you lost your chance to turn back when you used me to attack my brother." Monstrous goat skulls leaking fire appeared to hover menacingly over Sans' shoulders. "it's time for you to _leaf_."

* * *

 **A/N:** This is an older story of mine that I thought up while trying to brainstorm happy endings for the possession au. When a popular alternate universe is first created, the influx of comics and art and fanfiction is incredible, but happy endings take time. The comics weren't finished, the fanfictions were only starting, and while everyone got the chance to create their own happy ending eventually, I was impatient, and decided to make my own. While also satisfying what was, at the time, a deep need for Frisk to repeat Sans' own monologue back to him.


End file.
